


To the North of Shadows

by rae_aaah



Series: witcherAU maybe [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Siren Lance (Voltron), Vampire Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_aaah/pseuds/rae_aaah
Summary: Keith has never had anything that he had wanted to protect something as badly as he does this blue eyed wonder that came into his life. He knows that he'd do anything to make sure he stays safe.Lance has always been locked away, never been able to be free. Since meeting Keith, the whole world is for the taking. But something from the past follows him into his new, happy life.





	1. Author's Note

First and foremost. I am utter shit at making up summaries and titles. So, by default, it's terrible. I literally cringed and went "Oh god" out loud and pasted the text without re-reading it because I would have scrapped the whole thing entirely. The title may or may not have anything to do with the plot. I just liked the way that it sounded. There’s hope yet to work it in there *fingers crossed*.

Now.

Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying ‘gold’!! Your genuine interest and excitement for my urge to write a quasi-Witcher-esque story really… *tears up*... you guys really made my heart go boom boom. You know those warm tinglelys? Yeah, I got them all over at every comment :’).

With the story I have planned, I’ve never written anything quite of this magnitude before so please bear with me. At this point in time, I have a general idea of how and where this story is going to go.

Lastly, all of this is fake- its all magic. So if none of it makes any sense just think ‘yeah, that's magic’ *nods*. I'll try not to use that as a crutch though and make it as cohesive and true as it can be. If you’re expecting a forreal ‘Witcher’ type story, this is not it. The series title is just what folder this all is under in my Google Docs when I actually thought I was doing a real Witcher AU. It’s a really loose idea. The only thing that is close is that Keith, Shiro and Lance hunt evil creatures and that’s pretty a far as that goes. It has a more… old timey, medievil feel- a little along the vein of Skyrim, Elder Scrolls, etc- think farmers and knights and castles and fantasy creatures and magic. I’ll try to not make the talking not sound so stiff or ‘olde ye ways’.

We’re just going to cram all the VLD characters we can into this story and see how it goes. Tags will get updated as the story moves along and the rating will change accordingly *wink wonk*.

Without further ado.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They find a varg but something's not right.

Keith stands in the shadow of a half rotted tree and waits. The night is cool, right about to turn into winter and the leaves on the ground give off a dead smell. It covers their scent well but if something were to go wrong it’d be easy to track them. His eyes are focused on Lance, standing in the clearing like vulnerable prey.

He’s anything but.

It still makes him nervous. One wrong move and the fragile bones of his jaw can be easily be broken by a ravenous beast. He won’t be completely helpless if he can’t use his voice, but it’s by far one of his stronger weapons.

Keith grips the handle of his blade hard, squeezing the damp sweat out. He can’t afford to lose it, not when the air around them stills and the night sounds fade out, like someone throwing a heavy blanket over the clearing. At least the moon is bright and almost full. And the beast is hungry. They’ve chased away any potential prey for the past five nights so they’re the only ones out here for it to go after.

Keith slows his breathing. He goes as still as he can, eyes trained on Lance. They had argued earlier who was going to be in the middle of the clearing Lance had won with Shiro’s vote.

“I’m faster,” Keith had said over his hands that were sharpening a knife.

“Which is why you need to be hiding and come in to slay it. I can keep it at bay longer,” Lance told him. He’d been cleaning and clipping feathers, readying them to be fletched.

“Those arrows of yours aren’t going to stop it,” Keith said. He brought out another knife and had started in on it. “It’s just going to make it angrier,” he told him.

“But what you _don’t_ know, Keith,” he bit the name out, “Is that there’s roadweed coating the tip of each one,” he said and clipped the last quill free from the shaft.

“You’re putting yourself in the middle of danger,” Keith said angrily. But, deep down, he _does_ know that the roadweed will daze the target, make it slow and stupid. But that’s not what he’s angry about. That’s not what he’s worried about. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he admitted softly.

Lance cocked his head. Rolled and closed his eyes. Let out an exasperated huff through his nose as he shook his head in fond disbelief. He put his tools down and came to sit next to Keith on the log. “I can do this because I know you’ll be protecting me,” he told him, quietly, closely. Intimate in the way that they were both starting to get used to. He pushed against Keith with the long line his arm. Keith had stayed rock still, pursed his lips, made a show of being annoyed. He knows that he’d lost. The moment he admitted his fear, he knew he lost. Lance braced his hand behind him on the log, curled his body against Keith’s shoulder and pushed again. This time Keith swayed with it.

“Lance is right,” and Keith jumped. He’d forgotten that Shiro was there, adjacent to him and had listened to this whole back and forth. “He can lure it out and you have the better eyes, anyway,” Shiro said. “You’ll be quick to strike it down,” he added. He’s sewing a popped seam together.

Keith sighed. “You always take his side,” Keith told him.

“It’s because Shiro knows what side his bread is buttered on,” Lance said and gave him a smile. And it’s true. Shiro let’s Lance do what he wants and Shiro gets a cut of whatever goods Lance gets from town. A full round of soft bread that Shiro hoards to himself until it’s gone, a small bag of roasted chestnuts, a sewing kit that he was making use of when they had this argument.

“That’s bribery,” Keith said tersely.

Lance had chuckled then, deep and mischievously, leaned in close. “But you’re the one that gets to stick me at night,” Lance had said in his ear, all hot breath and suggestion.

Keith spread his palm over Lance’s face and shoved him away, embarrassed at his cheek. Lance just laughed, his sweet voice filling the evening air around them.

It’s that sound that Keith thinks about now, the thing that he needs to protect.

He’s concentrating so hard on Lance’s cloaked back that he almost misses the slight movement of the shadow not even twenty yards away from Lance. But he knows that Lance sees it, sees it in the way his body has stilled, the long cape he wears not even fluttering in the breeze. The fabric juts strangely and it takes Keith a moment to realize that his crossbow is being lifted, aiming straight for the darkness. He lets the arrow fly and it hits its target with a wet chunk. He’s already quickly reloading the groove and drawing back the string back.

There’s a loud grunt, a half-snarl half-moan, and the fallen leaves rustle under the heavy weight of a heaving body. Dried branches snap and fall as the varg, not their first in a long line of many, ambles out from behind the bushes. Keith watches with his head tilted. This one is different from any of the the others they’ve come across. It stands on its hind legs, taller than he and Shiro combined, and lumbers towards Lance. Something is definitely wrong.

Keith sees Lance pull his hood back and tilts his head curiously. He peeks his hand out from the part in his robe, holds it out to Keith in the signal to wait. He raises the crossbow and lets another arrow fly. It shoots straight and true and even at that distance, Keith knows that the arrow found it’s intended aim. The beast does little more than stumble.

Lance calmly notches another arrow and fires again. The head hits close to its brother, quivering a little as it sinks. The beast reaches up and grabs at the three protruding shafts in its shoulder and breaks them like brittle sticks. The roadweed should be taking effect, especially with three arrows, but the thing moves as if it were full capacity.

Lance loads another arrow and Keith can tell from the angle that Lance is aiming higher, for the head. He pulls the trigger, but the beast gives a jerk of its neck and the arrow buries itself in its cheek instead. It towers over him, its shadow eclipsing him completely.

“Zeeee W-wu-iiicch,” it says suddenly and Keith feels all the hair on his neck stand on end. “Ss-sshe waaantss yeeew,” it says.

Keith’s feet are stuck to the earth but his heart and his head are screaming at him to move, to get over there-

Lance opens his mouth but the thing was lying to them, belaying its abilities and it’s massive arm reaches up lightning fast and clamps a wide hand over the lower half of Lance’s face. It lifts its arm and Lance rises with it. His feet kick out and the crossbow falls to the ground with a thud. He grips at the thick forearm to leverage some of the weight into his arms instead of his face and Shiro barks a loud, “Keith!” from the otherside of the clearing.

Shiro’s charging the beast, his shield coming up, a solid bulwark, as he rams into its side. The beast stumbles on its feet and Lance sways like a rag doll. It’s that motion that causes Keith’s feet to rise up off the ground and run to the center of the field. He throws one of his daggers and it sinks deep into the beast’s thigh. He whips out two more and throws, these two landing in the wide space of its torso.

It snarls in his direction and drops Lance who stumbles with the contact of the hard ground. Lance rolls away and skitters to the edge of the clearing. He runs to where he hid his long bow and quiver, less powerful than the crossbow, now broken in half by the creature’s weight, but dead accurate when he fires. He slings his quiver over his shoulder and picks up the bow, his arm moving fluidly as he draws and aims.

Keith pulls his short sword from the scabbard hanging from his belt. The blade glows a wicked amethyst in the moonlight.

Lance shouts something, his words bright and archaic and Keith feels his body surge with energy. He sees as Shiro springs up on light feet despite his heavy shield and slams it, edge first, into the thing’s jaw. There’s a loud crack and Keith is rained upon with blood.

“Cut off it’s head! We can’t save it!” Lance shouts. He fires his arrow and it lodges into the creature’s chest, dead center. It howls and curls over, bringing it down to a more reasonable height.

Keith mourns for a brief moment, he hates killing thralled creatures, would always seek to break the whatever is ailing it. But he thinks of Lance’s body dangling like a child’s toy and washes that sympathy away.

He leaps with a twist, Lance’s song singing through his body, and his blade, always sharp, always ready, slices clean through the neck and the head falls to the ground with a heavy thud. The body teeters and falls just as loudly, blood pooling thick and black in the dirt.

Lance rushes over to them and Keith turns, grabs him around the shoulders, shakes him hard enough that his head jerks on his neck. “I told you, I told you,” he says and he’s kissing Lance, pulling him into his arms. Lance grips him back just a hard. It takes a moment but Keith realizes that he’s shaking, his whole body vibrating against Lance. Ever since their first hunt together, this is the first time anything this bad has happened.

“Look,” Shiro says.

They both turn and look at where Shiro is gesturing. The huge body is quickly turning black, collapsing in on itself, turning into dust. There’s a sharp wind, strange and quiet, and blows it all away. There’s nothing left of it. Not even bones. The head, though, remains, grotesque and still oozing blood from the stem.

Shiro pulls a dark colored bag from his belt and scoops the head up with it. Keith retrieves his knives and adds them to the inside of the bag, containing whatever blood there is in the same place. Shiro pulls the drawstrings closed and grips it by the puckered fabric. “We need to prove the kill and dispose of the head quickly. This doesn’t feel right,” he says. His eyes are silver with moonlight, tense around the edges and they flit all around the edge of the clearing, watchful and wary.

“I’ll go,” Keith says. He squeezes Lance’s hand before dropping his grip. “When we get to the horses, take them and head back to town,” he tells Shiro, taking the bag from him. The town isn’t far and the road they traveled to get here is well used. “The woods are restless right now,” he says, mostly for Lance’s sake. Shiro can probably hear it as well as smell it, but he can’t see it. But Keith does. The shadows are darker from where the beast came from and they move unnaturally.

They hurry to where they left their horses, their three big bodies huddled together, all nervous and whickering. They don’t frighten easy, so their behavior sets Keith more on edge. He ties the bag to his horse. The clouds roll over the moon and the field falls into dim shadows. Shiro busies himself with two lanterns, handing one to Keith. He shakes his head. “It’ll get in the way,” he tells him. He plans to ride hard tonight and his eyes will be more use to him than an unstable light.

Shiro nods and moves back to place the lanterns on the ground as he retrieves two extendable poles. He has Lance hold the poles as he affixes each ring to a hook. He slots the blunt end into notches on his and Lance’s saddles. The space is softly illuminated by warm light.

Lance comes up to him as Shiro unbuckles and re-buckles the same straps of his saddle. Twice. Keith knows what he’s doing and he gives Shiro a small thankful nod. Lance grabs the end of his sleeve to get his attention. He doesn’t say anything when Keith turns to him. Instead, he reaches up and lifts the gold chain that carries his sapphire over his head and transfers it over to Keith. “Don’t take this off,” he murmurs, low and close. He slides his fingers down the chain and over the gem resting against Keith’s chest. “If,” he swallows, shakes his head, tries again. “It’s a good luck charm,” he tells him simply.

Keith nods and tucks the pendant inside of his tunic. It’s oddly warm for a stone as it presses into his skin. “You’re acting like something bad is going to happen. It’s just Kolivan,” he smirks. He knows Lance doesn’t have the most friendly relationship with the gruff commander.

And true enough, Lance’s face turns a little sour. “Yes, well. Things have been strange tonight. I just want you to be safe,” he tells him, tipping his face up.

Keith raises his hand and brushes the hair out of Lance’s eyes. He gets an exasperated huff and an eye roll but when he pulls back Lance is smiling. Lance raises his arm, the sleeve of his tunic sliding down his wrist, and does the same to Keith, tucking the long curl of his bangs behind his ear. “I want to see you back soon,” he says.

Keith nods and turns to mount his horse. He turns her around with a gentle tug of the reigns. “Are you going to her place, again?” Keith asks Shiro. Like he needs the clarification. He knows that Shiro has high regard for the dark skinned woman with the moonbright hair.

“Where else?” Shiro responds with a smirk. His grin turns a little more serious. “Be careful,” he tells him.

“Aren’t I always?” he throws back.

Shiro gives him a sardonic look. “No, not really,” he tells him truthfully as he mounts his mare.

Lance touches at Keith’s leg, one last time, looks up to him. His eyes are bright and filled with stars. He blinks and turns his face away, moves forward to pet at his horse’s nose. His hand pulls gently at the bit of rope against her cheek, pulling her down so that her ear is next to his mouth. “You run him away if there’s trouble,” he murmurs to her. Her ear flicks into his face and he giggles. He hums to her, slow and quiet, and she snorts softly at him, _I will, I will_.

Keith feels his heart clench.

Lance mounts his horse, a graceful throw of his leg over the cantle, and he settles astride the saddle. Keith sees himself, superimposed over the horse, and files that thought away for later. Lance catches his wicked look and smirks like he knows Keith’s exact thoughts.

Keith clears his throat and shifts a little against the pommel of his saddle and his mare gives an exasperated clip of her hoof against the dirt. He nudges at her with his knees. “Hush, you, or I’ll tell Antok not to give you those plums that you like so much,” he says her and she stamps twice, making dissatisfied gouges in the dirt.

He nudges her again and she breaks into a canter. Keith closes his eyes and concentrates his magic. When he opens them again, the world is bright and he can see the road as if it were day. “I’ve got you,” he snaps at her reigns and she starts to run. “You know they way,” he says as he leans over her. “Let’s run,” and his mare, intuit and strong and powerful, gallops away.

  
*

It’s a some time after dawn when Keith arrives. The base is already awake and busy. He leads his horse over to the paddock and spots Antok, mountainous and quiet as he brushes down one of the older geldings. He dismounts his mare and leads her to him. She butts at his arm playfully and throws her head. He makes two clicking sounds in his mouth and she calms.

“I see how it is,” Keith says to her as he hands the reins over to Antok. “Is Kolivan busy this morning?” he asks.

He waits, as he always does, for Antok’s answer as he feeds Keith’s horse a handful of oats from his smock. The man speaks only at his own urging and it’s always short and to the point.

“No,” he says. “West hall,” he finishes. Keith nods his thanks and unties the bag that contains the head. The fabric is soaked black with blood at the bottom and it’s giving off a pungent smell akin to a carcass left in the sun for a few days.

Keith takes the back stair, passing the kitchens and up a winding set of stones. The smell of yeast and sugar and clean stone follow him up and Keith thinks that this is the reason why Kolivan chose this side of the compound to live above.

His outer chamber door is ajar and Keith knocks before entering.

He pushes the door to see Kolivan hunched over a long table, books and charts and maps spread before him in a semicircle.

“How’d the hunt go?” he asks without looking up. He makes a note in a leather-bound book. Lance had given it to him as a peace offering and a way to ingratiate himself into the fold. He’s not technically one of them and just travels with Shiro and Keith as an aide. Kolivan had given him a blank look but accepted it all the same. Keith has seen him use it every time they’ve returned for a new hunt.

The stone warms a touch when the thought of Lance surfaces and the bright chirp from a passing bird carries in through the open window.

“We killed it,” Keith starts. “But you need to look at this,” he says and walks over to an ornamental bowl resting on a side table. He places the bag in it and brings it over to Kolivan. “You might want to move those,” he gestures with his chin towards the slew of parchment.  “There’s something wrong with it.”

Kolivan looks at the bowl with distaste. “That was expensive,” he says.

“Do you want to tell that to the librarian if his precious papers get ruined?” Keith counters as he unties the bag. The putrid smell bursts forth and Kolivan clears the papers away in a hurry.

“How long did you travel with this?” He asks, holding the cuff of his sleeve up to his nose.

“Half a night,” Keith tells him.

Kolivan looks up at him sharply. “The smell alone,” he says as he pushes back the cloth. “It smells like it’s been dead for days,” he says.

“It spoke, too,” Keith tells him, leaning against the table. “I’ve never seen such a thing. It walked, Kolivan. On its hind legs. Even Lance’s arrows tipped with roadweed wouldn’t slow it,” he says and the stone against his chest pulses warm again. He reaches up and touches it through his shirt.

Kolivan gives him a distracted hum and uses a quill sharpener to tilt the head and expose the neck. “Shiro?” he asks and Keith looks down. He sees the white of the jaw bone showing through broken skin. He nods, redundantly. They all know Shiro is the only one in their party that has that kind of brute strength. Even without the help of Lance’s song he can take down a bear.

“I suppose this is you, then,” He comments, lifting the skin up at the neck. “A good, clean cut,” he observes and Keith feels his chest warm a little with pride. Kolivan doesn’t serve compliments often, but when he does, Keith savors them fully. “What did it say?”

Keith’s mind pitches back to the night before. “It attacked Lance,” he blurts, startled at how he could have forgotten to mention it. “It said that a witch wanted him,” and Keith’s heart is pounding, remembering Lance, small and dangling from long claws, his feet kicking out-

“Easy, Keith,”  Kolivan says, laying a hand on his arm. “I want you to burn the head,” he instructs. “And bury the bowl under the yew tree.” He re-ties the drawstrings. “When that’s finished, wash and rest. I want a full report come tomorrow morning,” he’s moving to the bookcase that spans the entirety of the wall to his left. “Tomorrow night, dig it up and run it through the river. It’ll cleanse the bowl,” he tells him. “We’ll use those berries next spring,” he says.

Keith scoffs. “Hopefully no one forgets and puts them into those danishes I’ve seen you sneak,” he jibes.

He sees Kolivan flush, high on his cheeks. It’s faint but still present. “Watch yourself, boy,” even though Keith is centuries old, he still treats Keith like he was a pup. He turns back towards the books. “You killed it, you see it through to the end.”

Keith stands straight and bows at Kolivan’s back, left arm crossed over his chest. He knows when he’s being dismissed. He takes the bowl and makes for the door.

“You did well, Keith,” Kolivan says suddenly. “Give my regards to Shiro,” he takes a breath, “And to Lance as well. You may tell him his gift is keeping,” he says, speaking into a book. Keith smiles and bows one last time before he heads out.

  
*

Keith sits heavily on the bed. It’s stiff and lumpy, stuffed with straw instead of cotton. He hates it. It reminds him of his time here, training under Kolivan, under appreciated and treated like an outsider, until he proved himself one day by garnering information on a mark they had been trying to wheedle for months. He was sent on the hunt the very next day and came back with the ghoul’s jaw in his pocket.

He smells of ash and dirt and his muscles ache. The fire had been slow to kindle in the cold weather and the head was even slower to burn. The ground was hard and stony and the only way to bury something cursed is to bury it deep. The yew that he dug under was old, its trunk wide and gnarled and the branches creaked whenever the wind blew. It had been old even before they came and settled here and for the past fifty years that Keith has been back and forth to this place, it would bear its fruit every spring.

Keith looks at the copper tub in the middle of his room. Someone had been by and filled it half-way with hot water. He grasps at the collar of his tunic and pulls it over his head with one hand. Lance’s pendant swings against his neck and he stills it by laying his palm flat to it against his chest. It flares hotly against his skin and there’s a quiet sound of bells reminiscent of Lance’s laughter.

The fatigue must be getting to him. He shakes his head and makes to stand. He removes his trousers and pants and moves over to the small wide bowl on the dresser. He dips it into the bath and half-fills it with water. There’s a very small cake of soap in a shallow dish and Keith brings out a paring knife and cuts the cake in half. He wraps it and squirrels it away in his rucksack. He’ll take the other half as well after he’s washed and give the unused portion to Shiro. Have a point in his favor if he ever needs to win an argument.

He finds a cloth and dampens it, uses it to wipe the superficial grime away before stepping into the tub. The water envelopes him like silk against his skin and Keith relaxes into it. He grabs the other half of soap and lathers it, runs the suds through his hair. A hot bath is rare, soap even more so and Keith makes sure to scrub himself pink. Lance is going to be so jealous. He dunks his head to wash it of the soap and eases back to lean against the rim of the tub spending a few moments of letting the heat soak into his bones.

He wrings his hair over the tub and stands, lets himself drip for a minute before grabbing a towel and wiping himself down. He stands on the rough rug by the hearth and uses its warmth to counter the room’s cold air. He scrubs at his wet hair and ties it up to keep it off his neck.

He pulls on a pair of clean pants and sits back down on the bed. Lance’s pendant rests against his sternum and he plays with it as he lets the day take its hold over him. He starts to feel his muscles start to relax.

_Keith._

The smell of peonies. Warm days. Springtime in the middle of the turning season.

Keith’s eyes start to feel heavy.

 _Keith_.

He eases back onto the mattress, the gem sliding along its chain to lay in the hollow of his throat. It’s so blue, a blue he’s never really seen before. Lance gave that to him. That bright, deep blue. Almost the color of his eyes at twilight. Almost the color of the ocean they’ve yet to visit together.

 _Keith_.

The sweet brine on the air from the sea tasting like Lance’s skin, luminous and bronzed from the sun. Luminous in the low light of their shared room, Keith dazed and drawn toward his neck like moth to a flame. Dangerous and inevitable.

Keith feels the heat gathering between his legs. He lets it happen, lets it build. Lets his mind wander all over Lance. The silk of his bangs, the pale, Gaussian blur of skin at his wrists and inner thighs. His legs that go on forever- wrapped around his waist, touching him, holding him, keeping him close. The flat of Keith’s palm resting perfectly against the hot, warm, soft spot right above the rise of Lance’s buttocks.

He reaches down and takes his cock in his hand, stroking slowly.

 _Keith_.

The way his mouth tastes, the way his come tastes-

The way his blood tastes.

Keith pants heavily, gives a vicious twist of his wrist and pulls the skin over the shaft down hard, exposing the cockhead to the warm air. He brings his other hand up, rubbing his thumb around the tip, swirling the gathering fluid there in slow circles. He cups under the crown for a moment, just a moment, pretending that the humid heat isn’t from his lonely hand but from the inside of Lance’s lush mouth.

“Lance,” he groans out loud, thinking of that wicked tongue. His hot mouth, his hot body, all around him. He thinks of Lance astride his horse, his thighs spread wide, astride Keith, riding _him_.

The sound of the gold jewelry at the tip of his cock jangling wildly as Keith fucks up into him.

_Keith._

And Keith comes hard, suddenly, a blow to the stomach, all of his muscles seizing. He feels this orgasm rip through him and end up as hot stripes up his stomach and over his chest. A heavy weight settles against him, almost like a contented body and for a moment Keith swears he can smell Lance’s sweat, feel his ragged breaths across is neck. Keith opens his eyes and blinks away the bright spots of light he sees in front of his vision but he’s just as alone as when he started. He lets himself come down, hand cupping around his slowly softening cock. He looks down the length of his torso and gives a little grin. A gob of come is streaked across the sapphire but Lance doesn’t need to know that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Keith's horse is my favorite character.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith returns to Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planning work functions is a pain. Appreciate your secretaries. They do a lot of work so you don't have to. Hope you guys enjoy this! There's sex :')

Keith was ready to go. His mare, retrieved from Antok early this morning, is in a mood. “Look, here,” and he pulls an apple he had taken from the kitchens and holds it out in his palm. She nickers and tosses her head.

“Keith,” and it’s Antok, turning the corner from behind the stables. He has a burlap sack in his other hand and he holds it out for Keith to take. Inside there are three small prunes and some sugar cubes.

“You spoil her,” he tells Antok with a small smile. His horse is already butting at his shoulder. “No, this is for later,” he tells her.

Antok just shrugs, pets at her mane and turns on his heel. He inclines his head to Kolivan when they pass each other. Keith looks up from packing her sweets away. “In four days I will send out a messenger with information. Until then, stay put,” is all he says. He pulls a thick envelope from the inside of his tunic. “Give this to Shiro. It has instructions for the new moon.” Keith nods and tucks it away into his travel bag. “Keep your ears open. There's going to be talk in the town. I've set out some starlings and they'll be coming home, soon. You'll hear more from me then,” he says.

Keith nods again, gives a short bow, left arm crossed over his chest. Kolivan claps him in the shoulder and turns to leave.

He mounts his horse.

He leans over her neck, says to her, “Let's go see our boy,” and with a gentle snap of the reins, they go.

*

Allura's inn is off the main thoroughfare. It's quaint and warm and, at first glance, one wouldn't think she runs the place with an iron fist. Keith's a little intimidated by her but so I everyone else. She even has Shiro nervously smiling sometimes.

They had been in the parlor when they saw it firsthand. There was a drunk and Keith was ready to throw down just to reclaim his peace in front of the fire when Allura herself walked up to the man, gave him a smile full of white teeth and grabbed him by the collar to haul him out the door. There was a loud sound, much like a heavy body hitting hard dirt, some exchanged voices and Allura walked back in with a gentle toss of her silver head. Shiro had eased the grip on his fist and eased back down into the cushioned chair slowly. Everyone was somewhat awestruck. The din that had fallen over the room slowly picked back up with conversation.

Lance had leapt up and sashayed over to her, grin crooked. “It's time to throw me out as well because I'm drunk off of you,” and wiggled his eyebrows. Allura took one startled look at him and threw her head back, laughing.

“Keith, come get your flirt,” she said after laying a gentle, if not condescending, hand against his shoulder.

“Keith is not the boss of me!” he shouted indignantly with a pout at her back. She tossed him a smile and had gone back to manning the bar and serving her customers. Lance threw himself down next to Keith on the couch.

“Not the boss of you?” Keith asked with a raised eyebrow. “You seemed just fine to bend over when I told you to last night,” he murmured to him. He watched as Lance blushed cutely and went back to his book without saying a word.

Keith had nudged his knee playfully and Lance stubbornly nudged back, small smile spreading across his face.

That’s where Keith finds him now, lounging against faded moss colored couch but with a different book this time. He looks up at his approaching footsteps and his face immediately blooms into a smile. “Well, hello, stranger,” he says, wedging his finger in-between the pages as he closes the book.

“It’s been only two days, Lance,” he says down to him but he feels the warmth settle around his heart at being close again.

Lance rises, a graceful, flowing movement of limbs accentuated by the rush of bright fabric that falls from around his shoulders. The shawl was a gift from Allura earlier that month after Lance had tended to her garden and made it flourish. “Two days too long,” Lance says with banked heat, with confidence, coming close and pressing his soft mouth to Keith’s. Keith’s nose is filled with the sweet spring smell of him, honeysuckle and grass. “I was worried,” he admits quietly and rests his forehead to Keith’s shoulder.

Keith has nothing to say to that so all he does is wrap his arms around Lance as he’s been wanting to do since he left.

Lance is the first to pull away. “Come, I want you to see the pumpkins,” he says and pulls at Keith’s hand. He leads him out the back door, passing Allura on the way. Keith gives her a curt nod and she smiles warmly at him. Lance pays her no mind.

The back garden is one of Lance’s projects. When they had first started frequenting the inn, Lance had spent hours in the sun. He was reserved at first, making his way around the weeded lot, pulling out clusters of dandelions. There was a half buried patch of small pink flowers and Lance had cleared away the brown debris. He hummed softly as he pressed back the weeds and it seemed as if the flowers strained their heads to the sound of his voice.

The next day when they had gone outside, the yard was a riot of brightly colored flowers that spawned from where Lance had cleared it. He smiled brightly and went back to clearing the ground. Allura threw up her hands and let him have it.

Now, there’s a rather large garden with fall squashes and gourds and a small section of funny looking green leaves with the root still in the ground. Lance leads him over to it. They squat down together, hands still clasped and Lance gushes at how big they’ve become. Keith listens with half an ear and watches as Lance wildly gestures with his free hand.

“Hunk says that he can cook these!” Lance says, turning to Keith. “Keith, _cook_ them. Into a _pie_. I just thought they were cute when I saw them at the stall. They’re smaller than what the vendor was selling but I planted them a little too late. Next year I’ll be ready,” he muses and puts a tanned hand against the bright orange skin of the gourd.

And Keith can see it, the two of them, next year, in this place, and all the years following. Lance a brown blur amongst the falling leaves, tending this garden as Keith watches. He’s not good at growing things, too impatient and too rough. He’s surprised that he’s tending to Lance in the way that he is, hadn’t realized that he could care and be so soft with someone. But Lance is his own force, tempering Keith with his heat, burning from within at his newfound freedom. He’s tried almost everything once. Liking some things with a laugh, hating others with a puckered face. But he’s never once let an opportunity slip by.

Keith leans in, boots crunching against the small stones in the dirt as he rebalances himself, and kisses Lance just as he turns. Lance takes him easily, smiles into their kiss and presses into him. The stone warms against his chest and when he pulls back, Lance chuckles. “What was that for?”

Keith just shakes his head and makes to stand. “Come on,” he says pulling Lance to his feet. “It’s cold,” is all he says and takes them back inside.

He sees Shiro coming down from one of the upstairs rooms and motions to him to come join them. They take up residence in the corner of the room and Keith pulls the envelope from Kolivan out from inside his tunic and passes it to Shiro. “For the new moon,” Keith tells him and Shiro opens it, scans the words quickly and restuffs the envelope.

Shiro nods but doesn’t say anything regarding the letter. His mouth is tight and it can only mean bad news. Keith doesn’t press. If Shiro wants to tell him, he’ll tell him. “Did he have anything to say about the varg?” he asks.

“No,” Keith says. He’s digging inside of his bag to retrieve the small cake of soap that he stashed away and he gives it to Shiro. Lance gives a squak and Keith hands him the other half and he quiets with a pleased grin. “He made me burn the head and let me tell you, it took almost all day,” he unrolls a map and lays it out on the table. “He said to wait and he’ll send us word if he hears anything,” Keith says. Shiro holds two corners of the map down while he and Lance press down the others. “He said to stay put and listen but it doesn’t hurt to have some kind of plan in mind,” he says.

“Well, we know was terrorizing this area for months,” Lance says. He makes a gesture to the area above the town, a wide drawn stretch of forest but puts a finger towards the northern corner of the woods. “It got brave and moved down to some of the farmland and started killing the livestock,” and the taps the farm at the topmost corner of the village.

“There’s three roads that go in and out of that forest and all the stories talk about the center path,” Shiro says. “This one,” and points to the road that leads northward, towards the mountains.

Keith nods. “Tomorrow, I can take a look,” he says. “Not too far, just a few miles in from where we fought the varg. I can get you more herbs for your poisons,” he offers Lance.

He’s shaking his head. “I’ll come with you,” he says. “You always pick wilted ones or pull the stem too short. I use up more trying to compensate for that than actually using them on my arrows,” he teases. Shiro just snickers.

Allura comes over with a small tea set and places it down on the table. She tilts her head and the long, silver ribbons of her hair fall from over her shoulder. Lance reaches up and tugs on one curled strand playfully. “Are you going to go close by the lake?” she asks. She pours them all tea and passes each cup out with a steady hand.

Keith looks down at the map. The lake’s not too far but still a little out of the way.

“Yes,” Lance answers immediately. “Did you need something, princess?”

Allura flushes at his nickname for her. “I wanted to call Coran down from there. It’s starting to get cold and he tends to forget until the snow starts coming down. It’s hard to cart down the ale when it’s nearly a foot high on the ground,” she says. “Use the wagon,” she offers in her smooth, accented voice. “That can be your payment for this month’s rent,” And curse her for knowing him so well.

“Fine,” he says, still pretending to be strong armed into doing chores, but he’s glad that he doesn’t have to put hard coin down for their room and board. “We’ll start early,” he says. “You’re in charge of getting the horses ready,” he tells Lance. He knows he likes to sleep in but this is his punishment for open his mouth and volunteering them. Lance sputters for a second and harrumphs under his breath. He throws his weight back into the couch cushions, knocking against Keith hard. He pouts and proceeds to be mildly annoying around Keith’s person, bouncing his knee, digging around in his rucksack to see if there’s anything else for him. Without any luck he sighs and falls over behind Keith, wiggling his way between Keith’s back and the cushions. He curls his stomach around Keith’s waist and pulls out his book to start reading.

It’s a while before Keith realizes that Lance has gone quiet and still behind him and he turns to look down. He’s fallen asleep, book threatening to fall from his lax hand. Keith takes it from him and tucks his arm over his lap and Lance immediately pulls him against him.

“He didn’t sleep at all that first night,” Shiro says softly to him. They were discussing possible den locations that dissolved into theories of the beast. “Allura said that when she woke up in the early morning he was still sitting by the fireplace, staring off into space,” he says, swirling a new cup of tea around in his hand. “He rushed off to bed early the next night though,” Shiro tells him with a small frown.

“Rushed?”

Shiro shrugs. “Dunno, he was down here reading and then he just sat up straight, excused himself and went up to your rooms,” Shiro stands and stretches, rolling up the map and putting it back in Keith’s bag. “When I went to check on him later, he was out like a light,” he says as he stacks the tea set.

Keith frowns down at Lance, pushing back the bangs from his forehead. Lance mumbles and smacks his lips. Keith smiles down at him.

“There’s a hut Kolivan wants me to go to,” Shiro says suddenly, “In his letter. One of his starlings found some information relating to the Alpha. I’m going to meet him there,” he tells him. Keith looks up at him sharply. It’s been a while since Shiro’s brought up that term. His eyes are hard flints in his sockets and his face is hard set. He rubs at his right arm absently. Keith’s heard stories of a fighter called Champion that would brawl in a pit against other beasts. He was surprised to find out that Champion and Shiro were one in the same.

Keith nods without prying. Shiro doesn’t talk much about those days.

“Thank you for the soap,” he says, picking up the little wrapped bundle. “Don’t think that this’ll buy you many points, though,” he tells him. “You’re going to have to trump those chestnuts Lance gave me,” he says with a playful grin.

Keith shoots him a dirty look. “Can’t I just bring you something without expecting favors in return?”

Shiro chuckles. “No, because I’m not the one that you, what did Lance say, ‘stick at night’,” and Keith flushes from his throat to his ears. Shiro bursts out laughing. “This is a bribe,” he says waving the soap around.

“If I don’t get anything out of it, then give it back to me,” he says, stretching out his hand.

“Oh, so it is a bribe?” Shiro shakes his head. “No take-backs,” he says and pockets the soap.

“Now you’re sounding like Lance,” Keith tells him.

Lance grunts and shifts behind him. “Wossat?” he mumbles. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Keith says. He takes a hold of Lance’s wrist and stands. He hunches over and puts Lance’s arm over his neck. “Hold on to me,” he tells him and slides his arms under Lance’s back and knees.

“‘Kay,” and Lance tucks his face against Keith’s neck as he gets picked up and carried up the stairs. Shiro proceeds them and bids them goodnight in front of his door.

Lance hums softly as they move and when Keith reaches their room, Lance reaches out and turns the knob to open the door. The small pot bellied stove is gently emitting heat from the burning wood inside. In spite of the hard labor errand she’s sending them on tomorrow, which Lance had so readily volunteered them for, Allura takes care of them. He’ll have to remember to pick her up something nice from the market later.

“Don’t forget the horses in the morning,” Keith says to Lance as he lays him on the wide bed. He removes Lance’s tunic and trousers and stuffs his feet under the heavy blanket.

“Mmn,” and Lance’s mouth does a little wiggle in distaste. Keith sets his internal alarm to wake up to do it instead. Heading out before sunrise should give them enough time to get everything done, pack Lance in a blanket and something to eat for the day.

Keith strips down to his pants as well and lifts the sheet. He tucks himself up behind Lance, curving his front against Lance’s spine. Lance kicks him. “You’re cold,” he mumbles. Keith presses his nose to the warm pocket of skin under Lance’s fringe. He gasps and jerks away. Keith laughs lowly, tiredly. Everything in him settling into place the longer Lance’s heat seeps into him. “Ass,” Lance mumbles but still curls his feet around Keith’s. He lays his arm over Keith’s over his stomach and wraps his fingers around his wrist. His breathing slows, deepens and Keith realizes that he’s counting his breaths. It’s been a long time since he’s had the urge to do so and chooses to continue counting them as he falls asleep.

*

Keith feels himself waking up, slowly, as if wading through a mire. He feels his legs and hips, warm under the heavy blanket, the soft cotton against the skin of his chest. His arms are touching the mattress space next to him and Lance isn’t there. He eases his eyes open and the room is a grey-blue color. The sun is going to be out soon.

Keith’s nose picks up the smell of coffee and he turns his head. On his nightstand there’s a small blue mug that’s gently steaming. Even though he doesn’t need it, there’s some habits that he’s lothe to let go of. Plus, it’s the crack of dawn.

He sits up and the sheet pools in his lap. At the foot of the bed his clothes are already laid out and waiting. He gives a small smile and starts dressing. He’s finishing up tying his boots when Lance comes in, cheeks pink and dimpled. “Good morning,” Lance says as he picks up his bag and Keith’s both. He slings them over shoulder, waiting. Keith stands, drains the rest of his coffee and proceeds out the door and down the stairs. Lance is hot on his heels.

“You thought I’d sleep in,” he sing-songs and Keith just shrugs.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Keith shoots back and chuckles when Lance gives him a playful shove.

Keith’s horse is hooked up the cart next to Lance’s and she tosses her head in annoyance, offended that she’s going to be demoted to pulling a cart for the rest of the day. He steps up to her and pats her mane. “We can go running later,” he tells her. “No saddle,” he adds and she bumps her head against him.

Lance is standing with both the reigns in his hand. “You were sleeping like the dead,” he jokes.

Keith holds out his hand and Lance gives the reins over. “You can go back to sleep,” he tells him but Lance is already clamoring into the back, whipping out a blanket and making to lie down.

“Don’t worry, I plan to,” he says. He even has a pillow to stuff under his cheek. Keith just laughs and clicks his tongue. He snaps the reins gently and their horses ease out from the overhang. Keith leads them out of town, down the path they traveled a few nights ago. The sun has crested over the rise and sheds some light through the trees. In the bright of day, these woods don’t look so menacing.

It’s another half hour before Keith sees signs of a beast roughly passing through the brush. He eases the cart into a little space some ways in from the main road. “Lance,” he says and shakes him a little. “I’m going to look around,” he tells him and Lance’s eyes open. He nods and inhales deeply to wake himself up. Keith passes a hand over Lance’s bangs, smoothing them back from his forehead. Lance stands and folds the blanket and tosses it down into one corner of the cart. He retrieves a basket and a pair of silver scissors.

They separate.

As he walks, Keith takes stock of the trees; deep gouges in several of the trunks, level with his gaze and some even above his head. It’s consistent with what he remembers of the varg, tall and broad.

The further he moves away from the road. The denser the trees get, his sense of unease ratchets up. There’s still the ambient sounds of the woods so there’s nothing dangerous yet. The ground starts to get stony and Keith feels his muscle start to strain with the incline he’s walking up. There’s the sound of water nearby. He sees the sharp jut of rock ahead and makes his way towards it. He peers over the edge of the short ridge and can see that if he goes slowly, he can make his way down the rockface.

It’s the smell that he notices first, sour and dead. He spots a dark shadow against a stand of trees and he pushes through the brush to find the mouth of a small cave. There’s the annoying sound of flies and Keith has to lift his sleeve to his face to keep most of the smell out. He can see some bones scattered about but not enough to signify that it’s been here that long. He retreats from the cave and takes in big gulps of fresh air. He makes his way around the rockface, back up the sloping land and follows the gouge marks on the trees back to the cart.

He finds Lance crouched next to a tree and gently pulling out some mushrooms. He makes sure to make lots of noise as he approaches. When he hovers behind Lance, he sees in the basket that it’s already full of herbs and a bunch of red spider lilies. Lance turns to him. “Almost done,” he tells him and turns around to finish uprooting the mushroom. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Lance asks, still faced away.

“Yes, It’s about half a mile in from here,” he says as he watches Lance’s brown hands in the dirt. He cups the stem in one hand and worries around the dirt with the fingers of his other. He gently wraps his long fingers around the brown shaft and pulls. The mycelium breaks away from the soil and the small shoot falls into Lance’s waiting palm. The brown-pink cap rests against his wrist, where Keith knows how warm and smooth it is, and he has to swallow down the sudden, thick flood of saliva in his mouth. He clears his throat. “It hadn’t been there long, maybe a week or two,” he says. “Nothing is going to go around that place for a while,” he says and Lance nods.

He watches as Lance stands and picks up his basket. They walk back to the cart together and Lance clambers into the passenger seat. He’s chattering away about things he did while they were apart, about his book, some pastry Hunk baked, Allura’s penchant for killing his plants and her ban from the garden. He talks about the smooth lilt of Shiro’s voice when he had told him stories about their past hunts, the way Allura’s eyes glittered happily when he brought her flowers from the garden. Hunk’s strong laugh and the way his hands looked when he was fixing a broken lantern. Keith let’s Lance’s voice wash over him, chasing away any of the anxiety he felt from the cave.

Lance urges Keith to take the western path. It’s the long way around the lake and it’ll be a little after midday when they’ll reach Coran’s brewing hut but it’s worth it when Lance surprises him and pulls another basket out. It had been hidden under the blanket he used earlier that morning and how Keith didn’t see it before is a mystery. He lifts the cover and inside is an assortment of dried meat and fruit, some cheese and two round looking pastries. He shoves the basket at Keith, says, “Trade,” and motions for the reins.

Lance steers the horses towards a copse of trees and pulls them into the shade. Keith helps with unhooking them, removes both of the bridles so they can graze freely and goes to join Lance who has spread the blanket under the tree, facing the lake.

They eat. Well, Lance eats and Keith watches him. He could if he wanted to, but he doesn’t feel like processing food this very moment and he takes in the simple pleasure of cutting pieces of food for Lance to put into his mouth.

He’s sucking honey off of the pad of his thumb when he says, “I wonder what Coran did this year to the ale.”

“Hopefully it’s not that nunvill stuff he goes on and on about,” Keith says from his prone position at the base of the tree. The sun is warm and the air is cool and it’s the perfect weather to lounge about in. Shiro would be disapproving if he knew that they’re slacking off but he’s not here right now and Lance is bad influence besides.

Lance laughs and flops down next to Keith. He turns onto his side and leans over him, his arm coming up to drape over Keith’s sternum. “I’ll have some later and you can have a taste,” he says, tilting his head onto his shoulder lazily. Keith’s eyes travel up the curve of his neck.

“It’ll ruin the flavor,” he says, hand coming up to cup at Lance’s neck. He presses his thumb under the jut of his jaw and presses back. Lance’s neck arches beautifully under the pressure.

“Of what?” he says a little breathlessly, his throat straining with speaking. “The ale?”

Keith traces the line of his pulse with his thumb. “No,” is all he says. He meets Lance’s eyes, watching him from under his lashes. Lance’s mouth curls upwards at the corners. He throws a leg over Keith’s thighs and hoists himself over him, that same graceful throw he’s seen before, and straddles his hips.

“Have you ever had drunk blood before?” He asks, trailing his hand down Keith’s chest.

Keith makes a contemplative sound in his mouth as he thinks. “A few times,” he says with a little frown. “None of them were pleasant. They were all from old, sweaty men, filled with cheap liquor.” He plays with the hem of Lance’s tunic, a vibrant yellow trimmed with white. It had cost him two gold pieces, but when he gave it to Lance, he was surprised and pleased. He’d been repaid in kind that night with Lance on his knees and Keith’s fingers in his hair. He’d worn the shirt and nothing else and when he came down Lance’s throat, the fabric had wrinkled with a starburst shape at the shoulder in Keith’s closed fist.

Keith runs his hand up Lance’s waist. The tunic is butter soft and smooth under his palm and warm from Lance’s skin.

“But I’m young and sweet and Coran’s ale is the best around,” he lobbies. Lance shifts over Keith, pressing the round of his ass to Keith’s crotch. Lance rubs against his growing erection and smiles mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to try it?”

Keith hums, attracted to the idea. “We'll have to do a comparison test, before and after,” and he slips his fingers up, under the fabric, against skin, his thumb following the cut off Lance's abdominals, presses into the give of his stomach beside his navel.

Lance laughs towards the sky, throat stretched and tempting. He looks back down at Keith, smiling and humming. His pretty hands come up to undo the laces at his throat and Keith sees the shadowed hollow of his clavicle, the sharp protrusion of his collar bones. Lance stands, borne of grace and the hard strength in his thighs. Keith tries to rise with him but Lance places a bare foot against his chest and pushes him back down. Keith goes willingly pliant, excited and enthralled to watch Lance slowly undo the leather belt at his waist. He widens the gap of the buckle and tongue and makes a show of unbuttoning his trousers, three down the front, and he slips his hands inside. The cloth still covers what's good and Keith watches, hungry. He can see the subtle movement of Lance fisting his cock and Keith's chest aches.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly and he raises his hands, under that bright yellow fabric, and pulls it over his head. His skin gleams bronze under the sun. His trousers hang off his hips obscenely, half of a tease.

Keith doesn't say anything. Instead his hand circles around Lance's ankle, digging his thumb into the hollow right above his heel. He brings his other hand up, covering the top of Lance's foot, feeling all the delicate bones there. He puts pressure behind his hand and brings Lance's foot to his mouth. He kisses the white skin at his instep, the hard bone of his ankle.

Lance giggles and extracts his foot, pressing it to Keith's shoulder and pushing him back down once more. He lets his trousers fall and stands before Keith, utterly naked and beautifully hard. His toes skim down the center of Keith’s chest to the hem of his tunic and he lifts the fabric up. Keith takes the hint and shrugs out of his shirt.

“Come here,” he rasps as he settles back and watches as Lance bends at the knees into his waiting hands. Keith urges him up by the waist and Lance knee-walks up his stomach, over his chest, until Keith can get his mouth on him. He tastes of salt and musk and Keith forces Lance higher still, until his thighs bracket the sides of Keith’s face. Lance’s eyes color darkly.

Keith moans and swallows Lance down. Lance shouts above him, curling over Keith’s head and his cock slides in at a new, better angle- steep and right down Keith’s throat. Keith’s eyes water and his throat gives a protesting heave but before anything messy happens, Lance is easing away with stuttered apologies.

Keith coughs and regains his bearings, keeps a strong hold on Lance’s hips even as he tries to scramble away, and starts kissing the underside of his cock, licking under the crown. “It’s okay,” he says and sweeps his hands up Lance’s back, putting him into position again. Lance moans through his open mouth. He carefully leans forward and places his fists above Keith’s head, spine bowed, and his cock slides back in, back down, and this time Keith is ready for it. He watches as Lance’s eyes flutter shut, as his head tips back, the hard metal pierced through his cock foreign and comforting against Keith’s tongue.

Keith lowers his arm and pats around the blanket and his fingers grasp at what he was looking for. The smell of wild sugar floods the air around them and Lance whines. Keith makes quick work of slicking his fingers and he brings his hand up and shoves two fingers covered in honey into Lance’s mouth. It gets everywhere, dripping down Keith’s wrist and onto Lance’s chest, down the valleys of his abdominals, into the wiry hair at the base of his cock. Lance moans again, his tongue going crazy against Keith’s fingers. He pulls them out quickly, just lets the sugar soften with the heat of Lance’s mouth. He brings his hand down and around and circles his finger around Lance’s hole.

He watches Lance’s eyebrows come together in the center, his face flushed red, his mouth a ripe cherry and Keith’s finger, slick and persistent, presses inside. He knows when he properly breaches Lance’s body, past both rings of muscle to spread the honey around. Lance’s cock gives a small jerk in his mouth and his hole twitches against his fingers.

“Keith, Keith,” he chants, rocking his hips. Into his mouth, back onto his fingers, his voice rising in pitch with each in and out stroke. Keith adds another finger and Lance grunts, his thighs spreading wider above  Keith’s face. “Please, oh-”

Keith pulls his fingers out just as Lance starts to tense all around him. He pulls his mouth away as well, kissing wherever he can in apology. He catches Lance’s eye, his cock still against his face and grins up wickedly at him. “Ride me,” voice hoarse. He gives one last kiss to the tip of Lance’s cock. Lance nods and shimmies backwards over Keith’s torso, rises above him on his knees. Keith can see the muscles in his thighs stand out, tense and covered by smooth skin. He holds Lance’s hips a he sinks onto him and he watches as the head of his cock work its way into Lance’s body, one inch at a time, until his pelvis is flush with Lance’s ass.

And then Lance is moving, using the strength in his thighs to rise and fall above him. He leans forwards and plants his hands next to Keith’s head and really starts writhing on him, using his hips, his spine arching downwards, pressing his lower stomach into Keith’s and effectively trapping his cock between them. The end of Lance’s cock rubs against the coarse hair under Keith’s navel.

Keith grabs onto his arms, pulling him down sharply as he bucks up, jerking Lance to a stop like they were reins. Lance shouts at the sudden stab deep inside of him, tosses his head and struggles against him. Keith makes soothing noises with this mouth and Lance calms down, whimpers a little. He shifts his hips and seats himself as gingerly as he can against the force of Keith’s hold.

“Anyone can come by and see you,” and he feels Lance twitch around him, get impossibly tighter. “See you arching and crying,” he says and pulls down on Lance’s arms, down on onto his thrusts, “And you’re so beautiful when you cry,” Keith says and Lance cries out, mouth open, exposing the cherry red of the inside of his mouth. He tips his head back, the long line of this throat cutting a sharp line against the bright grey-blue sky. Keith drinks in the sight, hunger in his eyes, in his gut. He growls. “I won’t let them look,” and he grabs Lance’s waist, flips him and presses him down onto the blanket. He hooks his hands under Lance’s knees and spreads his legs wide. “Show only me,” he says. “Only me.”

Keith lets the jealous possessiveness run through him, feel it expand in his chest and clench around his heart, lets it rule over him for only a moment. Let’s himself taste it, imagines locking Lance away. He thinks of being the person Lance ran from, feels the shame and the mortification- he throttles it, owns it. Knows that he can put it away because Lance is with him of his own will, returns to their bed each night, chooses to be with him, allows Keith to be inside of him, as close as they can be while still being two completely separate bodies.

“Lance,” he says desperately, leaning down and forcing his thighs to his chest. Lance wails as Keith slides in deeper, at a sharper angle. “Lance,” he says again, pressing his lips to the other’s. “I need you,” he says and lets his grip go lax. Lance’s long legs immediately wrap around Keith, tucking him up against his body. All down their fronts, they stick together with sweat and honey and the sweet release of Lance’s pre-come. He kisses all over Lance’s face, holding onto his waist, moving gently in and out. “Need you, need you,” he murmurs, drunk on the feel of him, of the smell of him, sugar and wildflowers and of bright spring sunshine-

Keith leans back, slipping out of Lance’s arms. He takes a hold of his hip with one hand, holding hard. With the other, he dips his fingers back into the honey pot, gathering a fat gob of it on two of his fingers, shoving them into Lance’s mouth. Lance moans around his fingers. He takes Keith’s wrist and pulls his hand away, making it trail down his chin, his throat, his chest. Keith pauses the pull to circle around a pert nipple, pinching it slightly, rubs his thumb over it. His hand sweeps down, smearing honey across Lance’s torso. His fingers curl around his cock and Keith starts to stroke it as he fucks up into him. “Come all over yourself,” he grunts, picking up his pace, “Show me.”

Lance braces both of his hands against the trunk of the tree, pressing hard against Keith, going taut and solid in his grip. Keith grunts, pants, feels the fall air breeze against his chest and he thanks all the gods that he’s forgotten for letting him live this long to experience having this man all to himself.

Keith slams into him and it jolts a sharp cry out of Lance’s throat. He does it again and Lance’s voice is set free. With every thrust, it punches out his sweet, melodic sound and Keith drowns in it, welcomes it, let’s it flow through his body in a deluge. “Keith, I’m close- ahn-!”

“Come here, come here,” and Keith grabs at him, hauling Lance upright into his lap. One arm cradles his lower back, the other clamps onto the nape of his neck. “I’ve got you, ride me, use me how you want,” and all Keith can do is hold Lance to him, be the body for him to rut on. Lance rubs against him in small circles, not even letting Keith out of him halfway, just grinds with little jerks of his hips. Keith looks down and Lance’s cock is dark with his arousal, the head an angry, blushing mauve. “Show me how you come,” he murmurs against Lance’s mouth.

Lance almost gets unbalanced as his hand comes up to grip at the base of his cock to pull on it but his arm shoots down and plants itself to the side of them to compensate, the corded sinew of his shoulder and bicep standing out beautifully. With that angle, his neck is a lovely, tempting curve right in front of Keith’s eyes-

His pulse throbbing- singing- calling out to him- Keith Keith Keith-

And before Keith knows it, he’s coming, hard, emptying himself inside of Lance. His abdominals tense and his grip gets brutally tight and Lance sobs against him. “Come, show me, let me feel it,” Keith urges, pressing his mouth to Lance’s neck. “Let me taste it, please, please,” and Lance is nodding against him, crying sweetly, _yes yes- gods, do it-_ his muscles pulling tight, choking Keith’s cock still inside of him. Keith’s teeth drag light and sharp against the straining tendon in Lance’s neck.

At the first flutter of Lance’s hole, Keith bites down, and Lance’s orgasm explodes over his tongue. He sucks, drinking his blood, his joy and contentment, the heavy tang of his lust and excitement- Keith takes it all.

He retracts his mouth before he takes too much, knowing Lance will be useless the rest of the afternoon if he does. After all, it’s only a taste. For comparison. For later. When Lance is drunk and pliant- he can wait.

His patience will grant him the focus he needs to worship all of Lance, for however long he asks for it.

Keith licks at the holes he made in Lance’s skin, red and puckered. He cradles the back of Lance’s head as they come down. After a few more minutes he leans back first and lifts his hips up to let Keith slip out from his body. He rests in his lap though, skin tacky and smelling like the two of them. His front is a mess of come and honey and Keith runs the pads of his fingers through it. He lifts his hand up to his mouth and cleans the taste of the two things away.

Lance’s eyes heat and he swoops back in to kiss at Keith’s mouth, slides his tongue inside.

Blood and come and honey and Keith’s senses reel with it.

“Take me to the water,” Lance mumbles against his shoulder. “I'm a mess.”

Keith kisses the side of his head. “Hold on to me,” and Lance nods. He wraps his legs around Keith's waist and Keith easily takes his weight as he stands.

Keith makes his way down the bank and stops a few feet from the shore. He looks at it nervously. Lance chuckles, noticing his hesitation. He drops his legs and walks the rest of way to the water. Keith gingerly makes his way after him and crouches down to where the water meets the rocks. He dips his hand in and cups his palm. He brings it up to his chest and let's the water wash the stickiness away.

He glances up when he hears the rhythm of the water change and the waves agitate in front of him. Lance is up to his waist in the lake and his skin is covered in goose pimples. He splashes water onto himself, starts singing, soft and low- something Keith can't quite hear, can't quite catch the words but he feels it in his bones. The sun breaks from behind the low clouds and falls onto the water like diamonds. Lance's body cuts a black silhouette against its dazzling light and Keith has to squint his eyes against the radiance.

And after two centuries of his undead life, he's never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't use honey as lube. /end psa


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to Coran's cabin and shits about to get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated a lot on how to proceed with this chapter and I think I came to a good compromise with myself.
> 
> Also, even with all the action movies I watch, I can't write a fight scene to save my life.
> 
>  
> 
> Edit:to aelitasstones1 that alerted me to the double post, thanks! Your comment got deleted b/c I deleted the chapter but you're great!! I wish I could tag you so you can see my appreciation ;_;

They make it to Coran’s cabin by mid-afternoon, the sun cutting long shadows across the ground. Lance is curled next to him, his hand in Keith’s. Keith huffed when he took it, complaining that it would be difficult to steer the horses with one hand, and Lance started to pull away but Keith huffed again, said, I said difficult, not impossible, and gripped his fingers tightly. Lance gave him a crooked grin and chattered away about this new girl in town and her brother and father and mother, all fair skinned and ripe-wheat colored hair and all the loud bangs and hammerings that would come from their house.

“-and she’s super smart, Keith. Her brother, too, but you wouldn’t know it cause he acts stupid all the time-”

Keith listens with half an ear, his senses straining. Something feels off, the air still and crisp but their horses plod along with nothing amiss.

Keith reaches down and squeezes at Lance’s knee and his mouth abruptly stops moving, his voice cutting off and leaving the sound of hooves on dirt and the leaves in the wind the only thing left to be heard. Lance stiffens besides him and moves a little aways from him, giving Keith the space he might need if anything were to happen. Keith clicks his tongue and snaps the reigns, urging the horses a little faster.

Coran’s cabin is in view. Keith sees a small ribbon of smoke coming from the chimney and the man himself standing outside, hands at the small of his back, stretching. Keith can tell he’s tense with every line of his body, but his face is open and smiling.

“Hello, my boys!” He shouts as they near. Keith rounds the cart to the side of the house, close to the cellar door that’s open. “I trust the trip wasn’t strenuous?”

“Nope, beautiful sight-seeing all around,” Lance answers, jumping down from the passenger side of the cart. He shakes hands with Coran in greeting and enters the house. Keith sees that he doesn’t move far from the doorway.

Keith comes up to Coran and shakes his hands as well. “I felt it five minutes ago,” he tells him under his breath. “Might have followed us since the lake, but-”

“That’s good to hear,” Coran says, gripping his hand a little tighter and gently pulling him with it in the direction of the house. “Come in,” he offers, “I’ve been expecting you for a few days now. Allura knows when to come collect for the winter,” he says with a chuckle and they proceed into the small cabin. It’s warm and cozy, neat and almost bare. There’s white sheets thrown over the bigger furniture and the mattress has been stripped of the bedclothes. A small stack of suitcases sit by the door.

“The woods have gotten quiet,” Coran says, moving about the house. “Lance,” he says, turning to face him. “Do you see anything?”

Keith realizes that Lance is standing with his back to the wall next to the window, standing stock still and eyes sharp. “No,” is all he says. His irises are cut class in the sun.

“Keith, will you take these bags out onto the cart?” Coran asks him. He fastens his coat up to the throat. “No sense in standing around,” he says, “Best to move as if nothing’s amiss.”

And yes, where has Keith’s head gone? All of them are aware of it, the heavy tension in the air outside of this building. He nods and grabs the bags, slinging two over his shoulder and picking up the suitcase. He heads out into the afternoon sun, squinting a little as he does. He hefts the bags over the side of the cart, tucking it against one corner next to Lance’s things. He still feels that eerie stillness in the air. There’s not even the sound of the wind. Keith’s horse nickers and she shuffles besides Lance’s mare.

Keith immediately turns towards the cabin. He can see Lance and Coran through the open doorway, see them talking. He’s about to step up onto the porch when he sees Lance move, lighting quick, to grab at Coran and push him towards the door, push him hard, hard enough that he stumbles through the archway and onto Keith. He staggers under the full weight of the man and before he can even shift Coran’s body to right him, Keith’s knocked down by a heavy blast- heat and noise and the hard force of air outwards.

He lands hard on the dirt on his back, Coran falling against him. He has enough mind to try and brace his fall but he still manages to press all the air out of Keith’s lungs.

His ears are ringing and there’s spots in front of his eyes and his chest feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.

Coran is hauling in up by his arms, checking him over. His mouth is moving and his voice is slowly filtering in through the cotton of his hearing. Keith shakes his head as if that would help him regain his senses. He braces his feet and holds onto Coran’s arms for support. Sways a little.

“Lance-” and his throat catches on an inhale, thick smoke billowing out from the cabin. “Lance-!” Keith sucks in a breath through his mouth, spits into the dirt to get the taste out. His horse trumpets, kicks up a fuss next to Lance’s and they almost upend the cart in their haste to get away from the flames catching against the roof of the cabin. “G-get the horses unt-t-tethered,” he wheezes.

He pushes at Coran’s arms, uses the momentum to carry him up the steps and back into the house. Lance is on the floor, face down and a moment of pure panic takes hold of him. He lunges forward and grabs at Lance, hauls him out by the collar and by the limp hang of his arm.

Lance grunts weakly and Keith feels the immediate tension drain from his shoulders. “Lance!” He feels Lance stiffen up, awareness coming back to his limbs. “Lance, get up,” he hooks Lance’s arm around his neck and Lance weakly, but firmly, latches on, rises up on wobbly legs. “I need you to get on the horse, come on,” he sputters as he makes his way down the short steps. Lance stumbles with him, but remains standing. There’s a loud _thunk_ a few meters behind his foot and he sees the black shaft of an arrow sticking out of the ground. There’s the echo of other arrows; hitting the side of the cabin, at the ground around them and Keith looks up, spots three figures emerging from the dense lining of forest half a field away.

“Come, now!” Coran shouts and swings Keith’s horse around by the reigns, holding her steady. He helps Keith steady Lance as he clambers on, pushing him upright from the other side. He looks over the saddle at Coran.

“Get out of here,” he tells him. He pulls his short sword from the sheith at his hip. He moves over to Lance’s horse, gets his foot in the stirrup and hoists himself up. She buckles a little under his sudden movement but steadies as he pulls her around. “I’ll buy you time,” he says, voice high, “Get him out of here,” he tells Coran.

He doesn’t wait for Coran to reply, doesn’t wait as he turns the mare around and digs his heels into her side. He holds his sword at the ready and focuses his magic into his eyes. Everything becomes sharp, becomes clear. He can see them now, dressed darkly, one hulking figure and two slighter ones. They fire straight at him but he can see the dark contrast of the arrows against the air with his focus. He easily knocks them away with his sword.

He runs through them, two of them scattering apart and he brings this sword arm down to try and catch one with his blade but misses as the figure tumbles away. He rears the horse around and can see in the distance Coran galloping down the path they had come.

Good. He can fight without having to worry-

Something hard hits the side of his head and he falls from the horse, his shoulder taking the brunt of the fall and a sharp pain shoots up and down his left side.     The heavy pound of hooves move away from him and he rolls to stand. His left arm hangs limply at his side and his shoulder feels like it’s on fire. He grits his teeth hard, squeezes the hilt of his sword to ground himself.

His attackers are advancing on him and he backs up, tries to spot Lance’s mare and she’s running away, not too far, but it would be a mistake to turn his back on these three. There’s blood oozing down is right eye and he hastily wipes it away.

The smell of smoke is strong in his nose, Coran’s cabin on fire and he can feel the intense heat even from here.

One of them makes a high pitched whistle and Keith watches the other two look. The one that whistled jerks their head in the direction that Coran had fled.

Keith snarls. He grips his limp arm, _pulls_ and then _shoves_ and his shoulder pops back into the socket. He brings up his arm, his shoulder screaming in protest but he has to fight. Has to protect Lance. Give Coran enough time to get away.

He gauges the sun setting and it’s going to be tight but he has to try. Keith raises his wrist to his mouth, sinks his teeth in- tastes Lance Lance Lance, still swimming through his veins - the stone against his chest warming him, steading him - and his mouth comes away bloody. The three of them look at each other nervously.  

The pain in his shoulder fades as he starts to heal somewhat and he lifts both hands to grip at the hilt of his sword. He sees the attacker, the one that whistled, tense, focus on him. They have two small daggers in each of their hands and they raise them, readied.

The other two follow suit.

The sun is overpowering the blaze of the fire, dousing everything around them a blood orange. He steps towards the right, edging closer to the stand of trees. They move with him in counter, and Keith focuses his energy inwards.

He de-materializes, shifting into smoke and he darts forwards, snaking up and around the biggest of the three. He appears again, legs around their neck and crosses his ankles, trying to cut off their air. Strong, wide hands grip at his thighs and pull him off, almost effortlessly.

“Take him alive,” one of them shouts, high pitched and frantic. Keith gets swung around like a doll from broad shoulders and thrown onto the ground. He kicks out, the sole of his heavy shoe slamming against the attacker’s shin and they fall, scrambling to get a hold of Keith’s legs. He swings with his sword and comes down, and just misses slicing at the neck. There’s a loud grunt as he manages to wiggle away, kicking again. His foot connects once more, but this time to a face and he hears a grunt and the hold on his legs falls away.

He focuses again, shifting into smoke and whips through the open field, getting as far away as he can before his concentration wanes from holding this form. He’s almost thirty yards away when something pierces into the space where his shoulder would be and his concentration breaks, forces him back into a corporeal form and he stumbles to his knees. He reaches back and pulls a dagger from his shoulder, the blood almost black in the dim light of the setting sun. He throws it to the side.

Keith’s limbs start to feel heavy, his vision slipping in and out of focus. _Sleep tonic_ , his mind quickly supplies. He gets to his feet, swaying.

He hefts his sword but it’s so heavy.

He feels the blood run down from his shoulder under his tunic, down his ribs and his clothes sticks to his skin. He thinks of Lance, his slack face, the fear he felt of seeing him lying on the floor- the way his whole body looked dead-

How he felt when Lance made a small sound, letting Keith know he was still breathing.

The three of them are closing in on him and the sun disappears beyond the horizon and Keith feels the stone on his chest heat- searingly hot- so much that it actually hurts him and he grunts.

“Get back,” one of them says. “Something’s not right.”  

Keith feels his heart pound, his vision brightening, sharpening, almost like how he can with his training but on overdrive. He closes his eyes and falls back onto his knees in shock.

_Keith._

_Keith._

There’s heat against his shoulder, almost like a brand, and Keith’s teeth edge out from his gums in reflex. His claws extend and he loses his grip on his sword. His hands dig into the grass, his nails scratching deep gouges into the dirt. Another burst of searing heat, this time at his temple and he reaches up to touch at the skin- but there’s no gash, no indication of an open wound. Just his forehead, whole and damp from his sweat.

“It’s the stone,” one of them says, “It’s healing him. The quintessence-”

Keith drops his hand to his chest, right over where Lance’s pendant presses into this sternum.

_Keith._

He gets to his feet, crouched low and ready. He can see them as if it were day, even as the sun sinks lower beyond the horizon. He can feel the energy running through him, coursing through him like a river breaking a dam, and he doesn’t even need to concentrate to vanish into smoke.

He comes up to the biggest one and slams into their chest, his arms crossed into an ex and pushes them down to the ground. He hears a startled grunt and he materializes on top of the attacker, brings his fist back and punches at the side of their head. The body doesn’t move after that.

He rolls away as a heavy stone flies in his direction from a well place bolo shot but it misses and Keith hunches low, running fast, claws out. He swipes at the figure, tall and lean, almost as tall as Lance- Lance Lance Lance- blue eyes, the color of the sky- and they hop backwards, away from his hands.

Keith stretches his arm out, fingers splayed and thinks _away._ The lean figure gasps and puts their arms up to try and brace themself as Keith shoves with his mind and they go flying back, slamming into the a tree ten yards away. Their body starfishes against the trunk and then falls unconscious to the base.

The last one stands ready to attack him, crouched and dagger up.

They dart forward but Keith can see, vision sharp and bright and he feels the heat from the stone burn through his veins like fire. His blood- Lance's blood- sings through him, his voice soft like little bells, sweet like honey, sweet like spring and all Keith can think of is _Lance_ _Lance Lance-_

And this person wanting to hurt him-

Keith snarls and his hand strikes out in a blur and grabs at their throat. His attacker drops the dagger and small hands come up to his wrist and short nails dig into his skin. Keith squeezes, his sharp claws digging in and breaking flesh and blood trickles down the open wounds.

“You're blood isn’t even worth-”

There's a heavy blow to the side of his ribs, unprotected from his lifted arm. Keith grunts and stumbles, releases his grip and the attacker’s body falls from his grasp. Keith whirls around and the first one, the big one, is on their feet, face exposed and sweating. It's a woman, features broad and pretty in a barbarian sort of way. She's gripping her side and panting.

Keith sees from the corner of his eye movement from the one he shoved away. They have their arms raised and he sees a crossbolt trained right on him. The arrow flies and Keith doges out of the way, but the other two surge in and attack him with speed and force and Keith gets caught, gets pushed to the ground.

There’s a hand around his throat, pinning him down and if Keith needed air, he would have passed out from the lack of oxygen. The hand flexes, squeezes tighter.

“What- Axca, he’s not-” the big one says. Her grip is strong for someone that took a blow to the head.

“Vampyre,” one of them says, the one with the daggers, Axca, and they’re leaning over Keith. “Pick him up. We’re going to have to restrain him before we go after the others,” they say before pulling the mask down from their face. It’s a woman, face lean and alert.

“Lotor isn’t going to be pleased,” the other one says. They come up to the three of them, also lowering their mask. It’s another woman, her face and eyes round and young. “We have the stone, I guess, in a way,” she says offhandedly, waving a hand at Keith. “But we don’t have the siren,” she finishes with a small moue to her mouth.

At the mention of Lance Keith kicks out his legs, catching the big one in the chest unexpectedly. He uses the momentum to backflip away and with the last of his strength he forces his body into a wisp, darting through the field.

He reappears at the edge of the trees and his legs almost give out.

He calls on every fiber of his being and focuses. He hears the three women, their breaths, their heartbeats, hears the buckling wood the burning building. He hears the wind in the trees, in the grass- hears his own blood rush in his veins-

And Lance’s voice, filling his chest, his head, flooding his senses and Keith feels his body surge with the energy. The stone against his chest starts to hum like a crystal, starts to heat again, starts to burn him again and Keith clenches his teeth against the pain.

There’s a blow to the back of his neck and Keith falls to the ground, all the wind knocked out from him. His head hits the packed dirt hard and his vision erupts into bright white spots. He tries to get up but a heavy boot presses between his shoulder blades and keeps him pinned to the ground. He hears the creaking of leather and the weight shifts, presses down harder and Keith grunts.

“Bind his hands and feet,” a new voice comes, distinctly male, smooth and lightly accented. Keith feels every hair on the back of his neck stand up. There’s an underlying threat to his voice. “I don’t think I need to say this outloud, vampyre, but, by the way you went up against my generals, you don’t seem all that bright, and it never hurt anyone to have all the niceties spelled out,” and Keith hears the sound of a blade unsheathing from a long scabbard.

When Keith’s arms and ankles are tied together, that heavy boot shifts to under him and flips him over. It’s his injured shoulder and Keith hisses between his teeth. “You know I could have killed you, but you are too fine a specimen to be thrown away,” he says as he lifts Keith’s chin with the hard toe of his boot. The man is tall, slender and graceful. His eyes are sharp and ever watchful, taking in every movement of Keith’s body. His moon-touched hair falls in a long, straight cascade.

“Now tell me, vampyre, why do you have my pet’s necklace?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also made an IG to keep track of updates since the great Tumblr purge of 2018 is upon us. 
> 
> [and I think it'll open the app if you're on mobile](https://instagram.com/rae.aaah?utm_source=ig_profile_share&igshid=74w0go4rx58c).


End file.
